


with all of the fullness of His mouth

by Hexeract



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anchorites, Blasphemy, Blow Jobs, F/M, Glory Hole, Humiliation, Manipulation, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Other, Rape/Non-con Elements, Thoughts of the Afterlife, Visions, religious shame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:15:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26122576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hexeract/pseuds/Hexeract
Summary: A new anchoress is uncertain about her vow to be dead to the world. Teresa tries to please everyone, including her lecherous new confessor--but what will be the cost to her soul?
Relationships: Naive Anchoress/Lecherous Monk that wants to fuck her, visionary mystic/God
Comments: 3
Kudos: 18
Collections: Short August Medieval Exchange 2020





	with all of the fullness of His mouth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notearchiver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notearchiver/gifts).



Teresa set aside her needlepoint and regretted for the tenth time that day that she couldn't stretch out her legs without hitting a cell wall. Being buried in the earth at her own request was an adjustment. After a month of twelve-hour prayer days, Teresa was still making peace with her decision to enter the anchorhold. She eyed the half-height door that hadn't been walled up on the opposite wall of her workbench. The door would remain unsealed for the first six months of her living death--in case she decided to leave. Many did in the first year. 

A small voice curled around her mind. She could leave at any time, take her fill of walking around the township of Grantshire, and return before anyone spotted her. No one would recognize her face after she'd cut her merry gold tresses to wed Christ. She'd always been rather plain. It was her hair that had pulled any attention to her at all once she'd reached marrying age. 

Teresa ran her hand over her shaved head, fingering the places where her curls had been shorn. Her lovely curls. They'd have won her a suitor, if there had been any man suitable to marry at age nineteen. 

With difficulty, she put the temptation aside. Anchoresses were commanded to keep themselves unspotted from the world. Where would she go in the town that gave her any fulfillment? Who else wanted her but Christ? 

Her petition to join a convent as a novitiate had been rejected. She had a poor attention span, which even the nuns couldn't tolerate. Floors went partially swept. Laundry was left to soak in the vats and came out smelling like lye. She'd borne the nuns' punishment and redoubled her efforts--and though she'd been instilled with an agreeable temperament, it somehow brought the worst out in other people. She had tried to please the nuns, but when one of the other acolytes had seen Teresa scrubbing down the floor on her knees, she had demanded that Teresa move her attentions to her person. Teresa had agreed--she had seen no reason not to be agreeable in this manner--and then been caught and banished from the convent. 

Penetitals on sexual sins had been added to her daily rota after that, and she'd understood her mistake and felt the weight of shame...of feeling no shame at all. 

Her family's money from grain milling made it possible to purchase an anchorhold. 

It was either this or marriage; and the thought of a coarse man hitching up her skirts and bearing down on her filled her with a dizzying feeling--her heart quickening--her breath coming short. It was a strange feeling. It wasn't shame. She didn't know what it was.

Her new monk-confessor was due to arrive in Grantshire tomorrow. Surely, he would know. Surely, he would make sense of this conundrum, and more. 

* * *

The thought of her new monk-confessor lingered with her for the rest of her work period. When the church bell tolled the end of the day, she tucked away her letters and felt a keenness rise in her.

She hastily pushed her plain white shift away from her legs as she kneeled on the floor, and waited near the recessed window. Wood scraped against glass, and light streamed in through her one indulgence. Her family's money had paid for a lancet window that was quite a bit more generous than what other anchorholds were normally granted. Through the window she could see the full altar, not just a cruciform-snippet of the church outside of her cell. 

The nightly call to rest and succor passed through Teresa's lips as she fumbled through an abbreviated night prayer by herself. She knew no Latin, and only felt those passages in her heart, and repeated the vernacular in the manner of Antony and St. James. When she had finished, breathless, she heard the footsteps through the adjoining wall of parishioners filling the pews. 

Teresa clasped her hands and strained to reach the ancient sill of the window with her hands. She could just barely see the high altar from where she kneeled if she pushed herself up on the balls of her feet. Chill evening air invaded her cell, and grasped at Teresa's bare thighs that were pressed against the dirt-and-stone floor. 

Teresa held as still as she could as her heart leapt in her chest. While a tiny slit window in her cell looked North towards the hills that ringed Grantshire, she hadn't forgotten what it was like to see the unencumbered sky. The sun was about to set. Compline was about to begin. 

Her entire body trembled with the tension of what was to come. What had come to her each night since she had been buried in this cell a month ago.

The priest came into view. By long habit, she knew the parishioners would bow their heads now--but Teresa heard the command as clear as a tolling bell. It shook her to her core. 

_Don't look away._

Her eyes opened wide and her jaw became slack. The compline hymn rose and died on the breath of the choir, and the priest fervently prayed for God, Creator of the World, to visit them with steadfast love. 

_God is all-encompassing love._

Teresa felt her whole body go rigid as her body was wracked with wave after wave of pleasure. Her tongue thickened in her mouth and she became insensible to the passing hours. By the time she had roused from this trance, the priest was celebrating the first morning light with the call to primes. 

* * *

Teresa felt the lack of sleep keenly by the time she'd finished the day's prayer rota, but she hauled herself back off of her bench, and onto her knees when she heard the door to the servants' quarters open with a groan. She hadn't had time to change into a new shift. This moved one of the larger stains off to the side, so that her attire would appear as unblemished as possible. She stationed herself next to the small window that was used for communion. She bowed her head. 

The door slid open from the other side. Then a silence followed. She hailed the priest, but an unfamiliar, stentorian voice greeted her.

"I am Brother Martin, your new confessor. Tell me, child, what order do you belong to," the disembodied voice commanded.

"I follow the rule of Saint James," Teresa answered. 

The monk snorted. "Father Thomas tells me you were interred a month ago." 

"Yes, that is correct."

"Tell me your day." The question wasn't polite. Teresa outlined her daily prayer rota by the canonical hours, and stopped just before she enumerated her compline ritual. On her hesitation, Brother Martin laughed, mistaking her hesitation for a poor memory. "Laymen." 

"Surely I am a woman, and your sister in God," Teresa remarked mildly. 

"We are not united in Christ. You bought your way into this church." 

Teresa murmured a low protest, but otherwise held her tongue. What good was it to argue with the truth? Her family had purchased this anchorhold at great cost. That she had given her body to Christ; that she ruled her inner and outer self with the bright unspotted rigour that the anchorite's life required did not wash herself of the circumstances of her birth. 

Brother Martin must have expected a verbal defense. The absence of it filled with silence. His tone increased in rancor. "Congratulations on the accomplishment. Father Thomas was the least mendacious man of the cloth I have ever met." He stopped, and then muttered to himself--unaware that his voice would carry through the small window. "Your family must be very rich. He wouldn't have settled for less than a new vestry...or a new whore." 

Teresa felt the color rise in her cheeks. Father Thomas was an upright, chaste man who took his vows seriously. He'd never hinted at an impure thought when they'd spoken with each other. He'd had many opportunities to do so. She felt the desire to leap to his defense, but she quieted herself with her hands pressed tightly against her lips. A good man like Thomas needed no defense. God knew his innocence, and hers as well. 

"Will you take my confession so that I may receive the Host?" she asked. 

A long silence. Brother Martin's agreement felt compelled by duty rather than by love. "Yes, go on," he said gruffly. 

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned in thought and in deed. I missed this morning's lauds and matins." 

"You fell asleep?" Brother Martin questioned sharply. 

"No. I was neither awake nor asleep. I was wrapped in the fullness of God's love. But the experience of God's pleasure caused me to fail in my duties to Him, and for that I repent."

"What do you mean by that?"

"It has happened so that during Compline, when I am listening to the prayer to God to watch us while we sleep, I have felt God's eyes on me. At first, it was just a passing fancy brought on by the sweetness of the choir and the hymn at the end of the day's prayers. A warmth that would start in my sex and suffice my whole body. But last night it became something more. I felt God's body descend behind him and fill me with pleasure."

The silence from Brother Martin stretched on this time. Teresa heard a heavy breathing. The door to the communion window scraped against stone as it was fully opened. Brother Martin's voice seemed to float up to her more closely this time. 

"Go on, my child…" 

Teresa did not struggle to find the right words. Piece by piece, she laid bare the full experience as she remembered it. The fullness and pressure of the body that had alighted behind her while she was insensible to the world. The way that her soul had cried out like the falcon to the falconer; and felt His arms wrap around her like wings; like the bridegroom around his bride. She could not turn to kiss his lips, but he came upon her like a lover and kissed her with the fullness of His mouth. She opened to him and felt Him move inside her like a cooling presence that set her entire body on fire. 

She felt an echoing warmth rise in her again; the words spilled from her as though God spoke them through her, and by the time she had finished, her cheeks burned and her hands clenched and unclenched uselessly against her thighs. 

Brother Martin's breathing was quick. Quick enough to match her own. At the window, he said roughly: "put your mouth to the window, my child, and receive my communion."

Teresa had never received communion like this before, but Brother Martin was her new confessor, and perhaps the order of things would be different with him. 

Hazily, Teresa dismissed any concern she had about procedure and put her mouth to the window. 

Her tongue touched her front lip in anticipation of the body of Christ but something else shoved into her mouth instead. She meant to rear back, but instead she swallowed reflexively. Her mouth opened around the object and it pushed so far back into her throat that her eyes pricked with tears. The taste of it reminded her of the soap she used to use for laundry at the convent and the salt she's lickeed off of her skin, but deeper, muskier. 

The pressure abated a little. The thing withdrew from her throat back to the ring of her lips, but then pushed forward again mercilessly. She didn't understand what was in her mouth. Not from personal experience. But as she heard Brother Martin groan in pleasure, she remembered a penitential manual. How explicit they were about the types of forbidden sex. What one might do with their mouth and the male member. 

Her mind reeling, Teresa fought against the shock of the situation and reared back. She freed her mouth with an obscene pop, and then wiped her hand across her lips, trying to get the stain of her sin off of them. The cock bobbed in front of her face, red and hard and glistening with her saliva. Her cheeks burned with shame. Oh god, this was her sin. She had taken another man into her body and sinned.

"One has often heard of the dead speaking with the living, but I have never found that they ate with the living. Take this living flesh into you," Brother Martin threatened, "or I will tell Father Thomas that you seduced me with your vision of divine comfort and caused me to fall into sin." 

Teresa could feel her heart twisting in her chest. She had caused this sin through her words. She had tempted Brother Martin into his desire by her words of the surpassing glory of God, who desires all souls, like a man desires a woman...but lets only a few experience this ecstasy while their souls still reside in their outer flesh. 

Her mouth returned to the window. She waited for Brother Martin to take her mouth.

"No," he said. "You have to prove your willingness. Take me into your mouth."

The cock throbbed and spasmed at Brother Martin's words. Teresa knew what kind of man he was now. He was aroused by his own power. She leaned forward, and took Brother Martin's cock into her mouth of her own volition. His cock tasted strongly of salt this time, as liquid beaded along its crown. She swallowed it as far as the window would allow. 

"You've obviously never done this before," Brother Martin chided. "Stroke it with your tongue." 

It was a hard command to follow. She had no experience with this kind of sex. Her mouth was full and her cheeks ached from the strain. As best she could, she slid her tongue along the underside of his shaft, stroking him, lavishing him with the praise of her mouth. 

A shocked moan fell from Brother Martin's lips. 

As his cock thrust into her mouth rhythmically, Teresa could feel something untouchable stir inside of her. She wanted this humiliation to end, but her body answered with a mounting desire of its own. This is what it would feel like to have God's body inside of her when she passed out of this world, would it not? When the soul had slipped free of its body at the end of her life, she would embrace Him in paradise, where the clothing of her soul would welcome the vigorous energy of God inside of her. 

The wall of her cell blocked her vision. Brother Martin might as well not exist even here. All she could see was a cock. A needy, aching cock. It could belong to anyone. It could belong to her Spouse, who ached for her and whispered with her in the night as how any lover would. 

As Brother Martin's cock pushed into her mouth, Teresa released her mind to fly up to God. She prayed. She filled herself with hungering for Him, and being requited by Him. 

And then, all at once, she felt--a dancing sensation on her skin that moved underneath her shift. It felt like a gentle caress across her nipples, that teased them into stiffness, that lapped at them, and then trailed down to her sex. As a cock filled her mouth and pushed back far enough to choke her, she felt something enter her. It felt as gentle as rain. 

When Brother Martin withdrew, she let out her own moan of pleasure. 

"My God, you are here with me even now," she whispered. 

"God isn't with you!" Brother Martin screamed, furious, but his voice sounded tiny and impotent; like a sheet of ocean water had wrapped itself around his face, and his vocal cords. 

Brother Martin was not the one here with her; what kind of demon would even try to convince her otherwise? God was the one who cradled her in His arms. She could feel the fullness and pressure of Him at her back as He slipped fingers into her cunt and fucked her. 

Eagerly, she opened her mouth and took Brother Martin again and again and again until he came down her throat in a hot, furious stroke. The cock withdrew from her mouth, and still she felt the untarnished pleasure of Him fondling her breasts and lazily fucked her with His fingers. Teresa tried to turn to face Him, but he held her rigidly against His chest. 

_You cannot look on me here without dying. You will see me soon enough._

She experienced a building pleasure and then whited out in an immolating bliss. When He withdrew from her body, she prayed for the grace of the world, and felt the sin pass from her body into undifferentiated grey veil that separated her body from the mystery of the afterlife. 

When she felt her senses come back to her, Brother Martin's voice had taken on a slightly hysterical edge that told her he had been holding forth for some time.

Brother Martin snapped his fingers at her through the window. "Are you paying attention? You will leave this cell at once. You are clearly unfit to serve God in this church." 

Teresa said nothing.

Brother Martin slammed his hand against the stonework. "Answer me!"

"Thank you," Teresa said, "for this communion. I am free from sin."

"Thomas will hear of your depravity," Brother Martin threatened. 

"I expect so," she said. "Bid you, tell Father Thomas he can wall up the door at his convenience. I've made my decision. I will stay." 

Brother Martin raged as he threw open the door to the servants quarters and thundered out into the church, yelling for the priest, or the deacon, or whoever else was praying the canonical hours today. Teresa sunk into the glow of love, and wondered mildly. What was it about her agreeableness seemed to set people off so badly? Maybe she'd have a chance to ask Father Thomas, or Brother Martin, or God himself, if He favored her with His return. She clasped her hands in prayer and fell into memory, where she meditated on her experience and felt such a blameless peace descend on her. She understood now. She was an anchoress, dead to the world and all of its desires that weren't to be embraced by God.

And maybe if she hurried Brother Martin's bluster along, God would visit her again at Compline with kisses from the fullness of His mouth. She could think of nothing sweeter than that.


End file.
